


For Us

by day



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Stiles, Barebacking, Broken Stiles Stilinski, Criminal Stiles Stilinski, Dark Stiles, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Killer Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Manpain, Moral Ambiguity, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Not Beta Read, Pierced Stiles, Police Officer Derek, Relationship Problems, Tattooed Stiles, Warning: Gerard Argent, cop Derek, hurt and comfort kinda, mentioned minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/day/pseuds/day
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Parole.” Stiles nods, standing up and stretching once again, revealing a naked and tattooed strip of skin above his belt. “I lied and I haven't been traveling. I've actually been in lock up for five years on charges of attempted manslaughter, harboring a fugitive, and a few other broken laws.”</p><p> Scott laughs loudly before he catches onto the tense atmosphere in the room. “You can't be serious.”</p><p>“Well, shit, Scott. I can't undo the past, so I guess I am.” Stiles shrugs. “Listen to my heartbeat, young werewolves, you will find that I do not misguide you. Officer Hale here took it upon himself to become my new parole officer. How sweet is he?”</p><p>--</p><p>Stiles falls off the grid for 8 years. When Derek finally meets him again, it's as a detective and main suspect in a murder investigation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Us

**Author's Note:**

> not beta read, warning at end
> 
> ok seriously, everything involving the law and the workings of the police is totally inaccurate and made up and it's glaringly obvious that i totally bullshitted my way through it i am so sorry
> 
> this is such a self indulgent fic because i basically crammed in all my fav kinks and tropes, again, i am so sorry
> 
> there is hardly a plot if im being honest with myself, just a bunch of manpain
> 
> if i missed any tags, please tell me

Derek is in a terrible mood. He's grumpy from the four hour commute from Beacon Hills to LA and it's hot and humid and he just wants to be home with his pack.

 

“Long drive, Detective Hale?” Moira, a stubby lady who mans the front desk, asks with a sympathetic smile. “We're glad you agreed to take over this case, we're in need of a talent like you.”

 

Derek nods shortly, forcing himself to politely smile back (“how are you a cop if you can't communicate with people?” Lydia had judged. “Interrogation doesn't require smiles.” Derek grumped back).

 

“What do you mean he's sick?” Derek hears Harrison exclaim as he enters the room.

 

“I mean, he's sick at home. It would be unprofessional to throw up on the suspect, after all.” Williams rolls his eyes.

 

“I need him--” Harrison's vulture eyes zero in on Derek and Derek tries to get away but-- “Hale!” Harrison whines. “Please. Just this once. I swear, I'll even do your paperwork for you.”

 

“Why can't you do this yourself?” Derek asks, not even trying to hide his frown.

 

“Because the suspect is uncooperative and I need someone who has a built in lie detector. I swear, you're the most accurate when it comes to reading people.” Harrison gives his obnoxious puppy dog face and Derek lets out a heavy sigh.

 

“Yes! Thank you! I'll buy you lunch.” Harrison coos, dragging Derek to the interrogation rooms.

 

“Don't I need the files?” Derek sighs again.

 

“Here. Read them inside.” Harrison shrugs, unlocking the door to the windowless room. Derek freezes in his steps as the suspect's scent registers. _Stiles_.

 

“Fancy meeting you here, Derek.” Stiles looks up with a shit eating grin. “It's been so long.”

 

“Detective Hale?” Harrison raises a speculative brow. “You know each other.”

 

“Detective Hale.” Stiles barks out a surprised laugh. “Oh, yes, Harrison, do we know each other. In fact, we grew up together. Did a few more things together too, but I'm told it's rude to speak about it in public. Are you sure this is the best idea, though? This case might hit too close to home for him, too personal, it might influence his professional stand point.”

 

Harrison turns to Derek who twitches his head in a no. He can handle this.

 

“I'm so glad to know you've developed social skills.” Stiles laughs.

 

 _Stiles_. He thought Stiles was _dead_. No contact for 8 years after his father died- he had simply up and left and no matter how hard the pack tried to find him, he was off the grid. But here he was now, almost every inch of visible skin covered with tattoos and scars, and he was cuffed to a table being accused of _murder_.

 

“Let's start, shall we?” Harrison interrupts.

 

“It wasn't me.” Stiles purses his lips. His heart is so frantic that Derek can't tell if he's lying or not. The fact that he has to even check if Stiles is lying makes him physically nauseous. “You have no evidence. I feel like you guys just have some weird crush on me and that's why you keep taking me in. I did my time, can't you just let me live my life?”

 

Derek has to fight to control his breathing (and fangs and claws and eyes) because _Stiles did time?_ He opens Stiles' files and is greeted by a smirking mugshot that makes him look dangerous. He did time for attempted manslaughter but 5 years into his sentence the charges were dropped. Derek is nauseous again. He was also temporarily incarcerated for harboring a known fugitive (the irony is so much that it hurts) before being released on parole, and had a few charges of petty theft and DUI's and other small time crimes. Derek's heart is pounding because Stiles has been alive and well the whole time, but he was locked up and ruining his life and _Derek didn't know_.

 

“We found your prints at the victims house.” Harrison snaps.

 

“So.” Stiles grits, eyes hard. His wrists flex against the cuffs. Derek's eyes are trained to his arms that are covered in dark swirls of ink. “That means I killed him?”

 

“Yours were the only prints besides his girlfriends. As far as I know, you two weren't acquainted, so you wouldn't have any business in his house unless you were dealing drugs. Something went wrong, so you killed him.”

 

“ _As far as you know_.” Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Right. But as I know it, we were acquainted. If you check the prints, you'll find that there are far more of my prints than Marissa's. If I was going to kill him, I think you know that I'm far more careful than that.”

 

“What are you trying to say?” Derek cuts in.

 

Stiles eyes flicker to the wolf and he laughs. “I'm trying to say that Stanley is far from straight and that I helped him figure that out.” Derek flinches and Stiles' grin widens. “I wouldn't kill him, I loved him.” His heart blips and Derek doesn't know which part Stiles is lying about.

 

“You don't seem to be mourning his death.” Harrison glowers.

 

“Okay, so I didn't love him. It was good sex, but I wasn't attached to him. Not like he was attached to me.” Stiles sighs.

 

“So he wouldn't let you go and you killed him?”

 

“No.” Stiles snaps. His scent is heavy with anger and Derek looks away. “I'm not a fucking murderer. Look, I've been playing nice. I've been trying to cooperate, honestly. But if you keep accusing me for something I didn't do simply because you want to take the easy way out and save yourself an investigation, I'll have to call upon my rights and get a lawyer. And we both no you don't have time for that.”

 

“You are the only person--”

 

“You have sloppy police work.” Stiles interrupts. “Did you even check my records? Stanley dealt drugs, yes, but I never did. You want me to piss in a cup and check? The most you'll find is medical marijuana. It helps me concentrate. I get twitchy.” He tilts his lips up at the last part. “If you want to find who killed him, he went to an office downtown a lot. He would always complain about some guy named Luke who would badger him during his office hours. But we both know Stanley didn't have a job, so I figured he was talking about drug deals.”

 

“Why would Stanley willingly talk about drug deals with you unless you were part of it?” Harrison narrows his eyes. “He's secretive.”

 

“Let's just say if he was alive and you fucked him hard enough, he would confess to all his sins.” Stiles licks his lips and Derek feels a jolt of jealous possessiveness zap through him and _no_. He is not allowed to feel this way anymore.

 

Harrison turns on his heel and leaves. Two hours later, Derek is following Stiles' around town.

 

“You know for a detective werewolf, I thought you'd be better at stalking.” Stiles calls over his shoulders as he unlocks the door to his apartment. “Would you like to come in?”

 

“I-” Derek bites down.

 

“Christ, you're acting like we don't know each other. Get inside you grumpy wolf.” Stiles shakes his head with a roll of his eyes. His demeanor is so completely different from when he was being interrogated that it makes Derek question what Stiles has been through.

 

He follows Stiles inside and stops in the middle of the dining room, looking around. It's small and kind of depressing but surprisingly neat.

 

“So.” Stiles drops his keys on the kitchen table. “Is there a reason you're following me around or did you just miss me?”

 

“I thought you were dead.” Derek blurts.

 

 Stiles winces at this but shrugs. “Well. I'm alive. So.”

 

“Why didn't you contact us?” Me, Derek wants to say, why didn't you contact _me_.

 

“I saw you reading my files. What was I supposed to do? I spent 5 years in lock up, I couldn't just call or return home and be all like, hey, I'm a former Sheriffs son but now I have a decorated criminal record. Nope.” Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“Did you do it?” Derek has to ask but regrets it when Stiles' face goes stony.

 

“If you followed me here to interrogate me some more, I suggest you leave now.” Stiles voice is controlled and formal and Derek hurts. “The charges were dropped, I don't need to speak to a cop about it anymore.”

 

“What happened to you?” Derek whimpers.

 

“I think you can guess. It's a common case, y'know. Innocent and good kid experiences traumatic events and boom, innocence lost. Oh! Or, or, you can even go with the whole scenario that the LAPD loves to pick at: sheriff is murdered in cold blood so the son feels the need to lash out against his memory. Your pick, Derek.” Stiles shrugs. “Or, we can get on a more personal front. Who knows, maybe I've had to kill so many monsters at the prime of my teenage life that when I left, it was drilled into me and I was mentally scarred forever.”

 

It's a low blow and both Stiles and Derek know it but they don't point it out because it can very well be true.

 

“Come home.” Derek says instead, voice defeated. “Please.”

 

Stiles head snaps up and his eyes are so terribly lost that if Derek didn't know better, he'd seem scared. “I- you want me to come home?” Stiles asks softly, the shock of Derek’s proposal stripping him of his defenses. “Even now?”

 

“Yes.” Derek says without hesitation. “I've been looking for you for years, Stiles, we all have.”

 

“Are you sure?” The mask is on again, cold and smirking, if not a little over done, as if he was trying to hide his earlier slip up. “I don't think they'll like me very much. The police officers say that I have a very... abrasive personality.”

 

“You've always had an abrasive personality.” Derek says instinctively.

 

Stiles barks out a surprised laugh, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint. “Okay then, Derek. You'll have to ask my parole officer, though. You know how they get when their little parolee takes trips.”

 

“I'll handle it.” Derek shrugs, knowing Stiles doesn’t actually believe him.

 

“Huh.” Stiles snorts. “I keep forgetting you're in law enforcement now. Detective Derek Hale. I can't say that I was expecting that considering your low tolerance for people and social interaction in general. Tell me, Detective, do you use your words or do you just scare people into submission?”

 

Derek chooses to ignore Stiles as he walks out. He pulls a few strings, calls upon a few debts and favors from people he's helped in the past, and manages to get Stiles as his parolee.

* * *

 

  
“You're fucking kidding me.” Stiles blurts for the fifth time since they started the drive back to Beacon Hills, “No. No, Derek, I agreed to visit home again, I did not agree for you to control my life! For fucks sake, you didn't think about, oh, I don't know, consulting with me first?”

 

“You wouldn't have agreed.” Derek sighs.

 

“Yeah, I wouldn't have!” Stiles scowls. “Now I don't even have a choice. Just- don't try and change me in any other way than being my parole officer.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Derek rubs his face tiredly, eying Stiles' stiff form and wanting to knead and massage all the tenseness out of him so he can be lax and happy like he used to be.

 

“I know you, Derek. You're going to try to make me see my wrongs and fix me.”

 

“That's partially what parole officers do.”

 

“You know what I mean.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “You can shove me into a few counseling programs and search me or my residence whenever you please, but you can't _fix_ me. I just want to warn you before you and the pack try to stage an intervention or something.”

 

“You're not broken.” Derek says softly.

 

Stiles is silent for the rest of the ride. They get to Beacon Hills in record time, an air of awkwardness between the two of them, and Stiles doesn't even twitch once, simply just stares ahead. It's disconcerting, frightening, so unlike Stiles that Derek doesn't know how to react so he just drives and drives and drives until they're home.

 

“We're here.” Derek says.

 

“Thanks, Detective, I couldn't see that.” Stiles comments drily, stepping out of the squad car and stretching his limbs with a groan. Derek watches silently, takes in the familiar yet unfamiliar stretch of muscles, the marked expanse of skin, the lidded and lazy eyes and parted pink lips. He turns away at Stiles' raised eyebrow, clearing his throat.

 

“Don't call me detective.”

 

“Whatever you say, officer.” Stiles grins, sauntering over to the newly constructed Hale house with a low whistle. “Pretty.” He walks into the house as if he never left, and flops onto the couch with a sigh of content.

 

“The pack will be here soon.” Derek warns. “I called them in for a meeting, so they're probably angry.”

 

“Don't worry.” Stiles shrugs, propping himself up on his elbows. “All their anger will be directed towards me soon enough.”

 

“Why did you never call?” Derek asks after a moment. “After you got out of prison, I mean. Did you really think we wouldn't have taken you back?”

 

“I have no home here.” Stiles says just as the pack slams into the house with confused expressions.

 

“...Stiles?” Scott squeaks, freezing in his tracks. It’s silent for a good five minutes before he speaks again, cautious, “Is it really you?

 

“No. I'm his clone who happens to have the same scent and ugly mug as he does.” Stiles raises an eyebrow in genuine amusement. “Hi Scott.”

 

“Stiles.” Scott repeats, stepping closer before pulling the boy into a crushing hug. He doesn’t even care that he should be angry, all that he can think about is the fact that his best friend is alive and well. “Stiles, oh my god.”

 

“Ease up there, buddy.” Stiles wheezes, carefully prying himself away. “Still human.”

 

Scott lets go immediately but Stiles doesn't have time to breathe before he's being pulled into another vise grip by a certain curly haired and blue eyed puppy named Isaac. “We missed you.”

 

“Yeah.” Stiles lets out a slow breath, carefully keeping his emotions in check. “Missed you too.”

 

He's passed along to Erica who bursts out into angry tears (“There's something in my eye, fuck off”) before clinging to him and breathing his scent in. Boyd pulls Stiles into a less desperate man hug and rough back pat, hands lingering on his shoulders for a few seconds before they're all just staring at Stiles fidget on the couch. No one seems to realize that they’re being all too accepting of Stiles’ sudden reappearance.

 

“I- we thought you were dead.” Scott whispers. “Dude, where have you been.”

 

“You know, here and there.” Stiles shrugs, fumbling through his pockets for a cigarette and lighting it with blank eyes. “Traveling.”

 

Before Derek can think about what he's doing, he's snatched the cigarette out of Stiles' fingers and crushed it against the floor.

 

“Oh for fucks sake!” Stiles exclaims with a scowl. “If you didn't want me smoking in the house, you could just tell me like a normal human being instead of going caveman and smashing things. Do you know how expensive packs are nowadays? The economy, man, sucks.”

 

“No smoking.” Derek grunts, further proving Stiles' caveman theory.

 

“Well, thanks, but it's a little late for that.” Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“Ever.” Derek clarifies.

 

Stiles looks up with a cold glare. “I'm sorry, officer, I wasn't aware that smoking cigarettes was considered violating my parole.”

 

“Parole?” Boyd asks, alerting the glaring two that there is in fact an audience. Thank you, Boyd.

 

“Parole.” Stiles nods, standing up and stretching once again, revealing a naked and tattooed strip of skin above his belt. “I lied and I haven't been traveling. I've actually been in lock up for five years on charges of attempted manslaughter, harboring a fugitive, and a few other broken laws.”

 

Scott laughs loudly before he catches onto the tense atmosphere in the room. “You can't be serious.”

 

“Well, shit, Scott. I can't undo the past, so I guess I am.” Stiles shrugs. “Listen to my heartbeat, young werewolves, you will find that I do not misguide you. Officer Hale here took it upon himself to become my new parole officer. How sweet is he?”

 

“Stiles.” Derek growls in warning.

 

“What?” Stiles snaps. “I thought I'd get it out of the way before they found out on their own and got even angrier. I'm sorry that I'm such a royal disappointment.”

 

“What happened to you?” Erica whispers.

 

“Jail.” Stiles shrugs. “You try being locked up with murderers and drug lords. Take it on my account that they're not friendly and dropping the soap _can_ prove to be of utmost danger.”

 

“You didn't do it, did you?” Isaac asks, unable to control himself.

 

“Stiles couldn't have.” Lydia answers, walking into the house, her heels clacking as she storms in.

 

“I'm insulted, really.” Stiles drawls, lounging back on the couch with a lazy smile. “Are you questioning my abilities? I'm very resourceful.”

 

“Exactly my point.” Lydia shrugs. “If you wanted him dead, you'd be charged with murder, not attempted murder. You're far smarter than that.”

 

“Who said I'd be charged at all?” Stiles says slyly before breaking out into a fit of laughter. “God, Lyds, I missed you.”

 

Lydia snorts and leans down to kiss him on the cheek. Stiles grips her in for a hug and buries his face into her strawberry blonde curls. “Lydia.” He sighs softly, squeezing his eyes shut and holding her tightly.

 

“Don't start crying on me.” Lydia snorts, “You're totally passed that stage.”

 

Stiles laughs again and looks up at Derek, who's been watching the scene unfold with a crease between his ridiculous brows. “You two have seen each other before this?”

 

“You didn't read the full reports, did you?” Stiles asks. “Lydia was my lawyer.”

 

“Lawyer?” Scott exclaims. “And you didn't tell us he was alive?”

 

“I asked her not to.” Stiles interrupts Lydia's most likely bitter retort. “I'm not exactly proud of my crimes.”

 

“Than why did you commit them?” Scott snaps, his anger finally catching up to him.

 

“Why else?” Stiles sneers, leaning in with an evil smirk playing across his lips. His eyes are dead and Derek feels fear pulse through his own heart. “I enjoy the thrill.”

 

“That's enough!” Derek snaps. “Allison, take Scott to cool off. Stilinski, with me.”

 

“Oh, officer, I love it when you get all authoritative on me.” Stiles drawls.

 

And Derek would have a snappy comeback, but he can't because Stiles is telling the truth and Derek can smell it. The scent of arousal is thick and heavy and permeating through the room. Boyd coughs awkwardly and walks out, the others quickly following (Erica makes a lewd comment that Derek chooses not to hear). Even Lydia rolls her eyes and goes to join Scott and Allison outside.

 

“Stiles.” Derek warns, wanting nothing but to shove the boy down and have his way with him. He's pretty sure there's a law against a probation officer and his parolee engaging in sexual activities. Hell, they shouldn't even be together this often.

 

“Derek.” Stiles says, tongue forming the name carefully, a smug smile on his lips. “Why so serious?”

 

“Why are you acting like this?” Derek sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “You're baiting them.”

 

“I am.” Stiles admits. “And it's fun.”

 

“Don't do this.” Derek doesn't whimper. He doesn't. “Don't do this to them.”

 

“Do what?” Stiles laughs. “Ruin their perfect little image of me? I told you I had an abrasive personality and they wouldn't like me. I warned you.”

 

Derek just nods.

 

Stiles stays in the guest room, avoids all contact with the pack, besides Lydia, and pretty much stays in the house for three days, smoking cigarette after cigarette in silence.

 

“--we need help!” Stiles hears Scott exclaim through the walls. “I understand that we agreed not to rope him into this again, but no one else can help us.”

 

“It's not fair to him. He just got back.” Derek's voice rings through, quiet and calm.

 

“I don't think he's in the right mindset to even help us right now.” Erica sighs.

 

Stiles reaches for the nearly empty pack of smokes and lights one, inhaling deep and blowing out a ring  of smoke. Lydia, who's been curled up on the edge of the bed watching, sighs. “You're going to ruin your lungs.”

 

“I've already ruined my life.” Stiles laughs bitterly. “Might as well smoke my way to an early grave.”

 

“I worry about you.” Lydia says seriously.

 

“I know.”

 

“They want to ask you for help.” Lydia shrugs. “They killed a shifter, but now people are looking for him and they don't know what to do with the body. They think the shifters pack will be after them soon.”

 

“If they want help, they can ask.” Stiles says, knowing the pack is listening in on the conversation. “I'm not entirely useless now.”

 

“You can hide a body?” Lydia asks with raised brows.

 

“I can do a lot of things, sweetheart.” Stiles laughs. “Prison is surprisingly informative. There was a guy named Slater, convicted of murder and got 20 to life, but somehow I feel it wasn't him. He gave me a few tips on how to hide a body.”

 

“Oh really?” Lydia snorts.

 

“Of course that was after I fucked him against the prison walls--” Stiles starts with a grin only to be cut off by Lydia covering her ears and singing at the top of her lungs. “Kidding, Lyds, I like my men clean and Slater didn't bathe, unfortunately. He was hot, too.”

 

“His name is _Slater._ ” Lydia cringes.

 

“Doesn't affect how hot he is, to be honest. Just imagine screaming that name in bed though. Oh, Slater, faster! Slater, harder! Oh, God, _Slater._ ” Stiles moans before breaking off into peals of laughter and being shoved off the bed by Lydia. “But then again, I shouldn’t be talking, my name is Stiles.”

 

Derek listens to the conversation in silence, conflicting emotions piling in his brain. A certain pang goes straight to his crotch at Stiles' fake moans but immediately retreats at the unfamiliar name on Stiles' lips. Stiles should be moaning Derek's name, he should be begging Derek, and a wave of possessiveness goes through him so strong that he has to pinch himself to get his mind straight again.

 

“I know you're listening.” Stiles says, clear as day. The pack looks up as if they could see through the roof and into the second story. “I'll help you. Just because I've been gone, doesn't mean my abilities have disappeared and just because I’m slightly more of an ass and now a decorated criminal, doesn’t mean I wont help out if you ask.”

 

Scott stands first, scrambling up the stairs and into Stiles' room to launch himself at him, gripping him and apologizing. “Sorry.” Scott whines. “I'm sorry, Stiles, I was just mad, I didn't mean-- I thought you were dead and I--” He’s getting a whiplash from all the sudden changes in emotion.

 

“Calm down there, Scotty.” Stiles laughs, petting his floppy hair with a grin that almost makes it possible for Derek to fantasize that they’re all back to normal. “It's cool. I needed to wrap my head around the change of surroundings, is all. I'm kind of confused as to what I'm doing here, considering I have a life in LA.”

 

Derek feels guilt at this. He didn't even think about Stiles' life in LA, simply just expected him to come back to Beacon Hills and _stay_ in Beacon Hills.

 

“Oh great Stilinski.” Erica drawls. “We call upon you and your knowledge, and we need to kill off a pack of sex demons and hide the bodies.”

 

“Well, Reyes, I am the right guy to come to.” Stiles winks. “Of course, Detective Hale... burying bodies and all, I am almost 100% sure that's violating my parole. And against the law.”

 

Derek gives him a withering look. “Are you going to help?”

 

“Of course!” Stiles chirps. “Remove his mandible and shave off the prints. Or you can just hack 'em up, but that gets dirty real fast, and one drop of blood and you're in lock up for twenty to life. Always remember to bury the body vertically. Also, if you're desperate, bury a dead animal above the body, so that way if they're being tracked by hounds, they'll dig, get to the animal, think it's a false alarm and move on. Or there's the option of hacking it up and tossing the body in different parts of the ocean. C'mon guys, it's really not that complicated. You're werewolves, shift and tear up the body and leave it for the poor hikers to find. Animal attack.”

  
Derek tries his best to ignore the fact that it sounds like Stiles has done this before.

 

“You're scaring me.” Isaac deadpans.

 

“Aw. Don't worry, I only use my powers for good!” Stiles laughs, but it’s bitter and it stings.

 

“What about the pack of demons?” Boyd asks.

 

“Where are they from?” Stiles cocks his head, lips pursed.

 

“Sacramento.” Erica answers, handing Stiles a slip of paper with their names. Stiles reads the list and laughs to himself, a sadistic grin stretching across his face.

 

“Lyds.” Stiles sings. “Would you look at that. Luke's an incubus.”

 

Lydia out right cackles, sauntering over with a huge grin and patting Derek on the back. “Oh, Derek, you wont have to lift a single claw.”

 

“Luke.” Derek deadpans. “The same Luke who you accused of murdering Stanley?”

 

“Yes, that Luke.” Stiles purses his lips. “Don't worry about him though, I have it under control.”

 

“He's a murderer, Stiles, you said you didn't even know him-”

 

“I lied.” Stiles scoffs. “I lied about a lot of things, Derek. Harrison was right. Stanley was secretive, no matter how hard I fucked him. But Luke... Luke's a blabber mouth, I'm surprised he managed to keep his demonic upbringing a secret for this long. Don't look at me like that, Derek, you can't honestly think I would be faithful to Stanley. The sex wasn't that good--”

 

Derek slams Stiles into the wall before he can finish his sentence. “What are you trying to do here, Stiles? What game are you trying to play?”

 

“Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who brought me here? What are _you_ trying to play, Derek? You’re going around playing house and pretending that I’m still the same Stiles from 8 years ago. The only reason I came here was to satisfy my curiosity and find out how you all turned out. I didn’t want to stay. I don’t plan on staying. This is temporary, until you realize that things can’t go back to the way they were.” Stiles hisses.

 

“You can’t leave us again.” Derek doesn’t care that he sounds desperate and unhinged. He’s too far gone, too fucked up over everything _Stiles_.

 

“We're not together anymore, Derek.” Stiles spits. He watches as the wolves and Lydia all scramble out of the room. “But you stare at me like you want to _devour_ me. Too bad you’re too much of a good person to actually do anything about it.”

 

Derek knows he’s being baited. He doesn’t care, he lets himself get hooked.

 

“I'm not a good person.” Derek says, guttural, pressing the length of his body against Stiles', breaths mingling.

 

Stiles' heartbeat kicks up a notch and his eyes cloud with shocked confusion. Derek inhales the scent of Stiles and arousal and something sharp and bitter. Like a slap to a face, Derek identifies the scent and rears back. _Fear_. Stiles is _scared_.

 

“Aw, it was just getting fun.” Stiles pouts, quickly recovering.

 

“Why are you afraid of me?” Derek whispers, voice broken. “I would never. I. Stiles.”

 

“Very articulate, Derek, honestly, you're so good with words.” Stiles laughs but his eyes are flooding with panic once again. He shoves passed Derek, “Hurry up. I need to fuck some sense into Luke before he and his pack cause more trouble.”

 

Derek doesn't move, frozen in place as he watches Stiles head out. No one talks during the ride to LA, no one even moves much, and Stiles makes everyone stay in the van while he goes to talk to Luke. He's in there for 4 hours and he comes out smelling like sex and blood and pain.

 

“What happened?” Scott scrunches his nose.

 

“We had sex.” Stiles deadpans, fumbling with a cigarette and glaring at Derek who is glaring at him. “And we talked. I brought up the whole not human thing and he tried to kill me.”

 

Derek stiffens and he's about to burst out of the car and head into the building but Stiles stops him. “He's taken care of. Sometimes things don't go correctly and you need a plan B. I used plan B. Plan B should have been Plan A because I really didn't want to have sex with him considering he's an incubus, but hey, we have to make sacrifices.”

 

“What was plan B?” Boyd asks.

 

“Threaten his life.” Lydia answers. Stiles winks at her and blows a kiss.

 

“You're human.” Scott doesn’t know if he’s reminding himself or Stiles. “He's of demonic origin. Why would he be afraid of you?”

 

Stiles shrugs, “I was in lock up for attempted man slaughter. The records didn't say, but the man that I was supposedly trying to kill wasn't human.”

 

Everyone stops speaking.

 

Erica interrupts the heavy silence two hours later with a tentative, “So you did do it?”

 

“The specific crime that got me locked up? No. Like Lydia says, I'm too careful for that. I was framed.” Stiles shrugs. “But I already had my tattoo's and piercings by then, so they didn't try very hard to prove me innocent.”

 

“So they just locked you up?” Derek growls. “On false charges?”

 

Stiles purses his lips and stares at the Alpha. “Don't.”

 

“Don't what?” Derek spits. “They got it _wrong_ -”

 

“Don't try and make excuses for what I did. Don't try to make it seem like I'm innocent just so you can feel less guilty about what I've become, because I'm not. I'm not innocent. I _killed_ \--”  
  
“Stop it.” Derek growls.

 

“What? Are you ashamed of me?” Stiles laughs loudly, “Ashamed that the poor little Stiles who's daddy was murdered couldn't handle the fucking guilt, so he turned himself into a worse monster than the thing that killed his dad? I'm sick, demented, I've _gone crazy_ \--”

 

“Stop it!” Derek screams, slamming his foot on the breaks and snarling at Stiles. “Don't say that--”

 

“It's true, isn't it?” Stiles screams right back, eyes watering with tears. It’s the closest to breaking Derek has seen him so far. Derek doesn’t know if it makes him a bad person to want to push further. “I've seen the way people look at me. I've seen the way you guys look at the person I've become, and desperately try to delude yourself into believing that I'm still Stiles, still the same kid who throws up and has panic attacks after having to kill monsters. But I'm not. I'm not and you're never getting him back because he died along with my father--”

 

“Please.” Derek whimpers. He doesn't even try to hold face in front of his pack. There's no need, they can smell the waves of agony off their Alpha, smell the pain and terror.

 

“Luke or his friends aren't going to bother you anymore.” Stiles says abruptly, schooling himself back to indifference. “Even if it would be hard to kill him myself, I'm close with all the packs and supernatural creatures in LA. They owe me favors, and Luke knows people are just waiting for the chance to kill him. If he wants to live, if he wants his daughter to live, he's going to leave you alone.”

 

Derek nods stiffly, forcing himself to drive the rest of the way to Beacon Hills without crashing. The pack leaves and it's just Stiles and Derek in the house, and it's strained and awkward.

 

“Why.” Derek bites his tongue. “Why are you trying to make me hate you?”

 

“I'm not.” Stiles grins as he exits the bathroom, darting out a pink tongue and running it along the seam of his lips. Derek hears the clink of a tongue ring against teeth and shudders. “The sound doesn't annoy you, does it? I knew a few wolves in LA, they hated the sound of it, so I had to take it out for awhile.”

 

Derek swallows thickly, shaking his head, “Can you tell me why, then? Tell me why you seem to hate me so much, why you're so angry--”

 

“We're not talking about this.” Stiles sinks into the couch.

 

“I just want to understand.” Derek growls in frustration, all the built up pressure and desperation spilling out. “I want to know why you broke up with me, why you left, why you tried to kill someone--”

 

“My dad was killed by Gerard.” Stiles shrugs. “No matter how much I- no matter how much I loved you, I couldn't stay and let you convince me that it wasn't my fault.”

 

Derek flinches as the use of past tense, but nods. “Who was the person you were framed for trying to kill?”

 

“I don't see why it matters.” Stiles leans back, revealing the pale and unmarked column of his throat. “His name was Jason Romero. He’s some type of Fae, I think.  He drove the car that hit my mom when I was 15.”

 

Derek's mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

 

“I was angry at him, yeah, but I really wasn't the one who was trying to kill him. If I was, he'd actually be dead. But I was a top suspect, since I was sleeping with him. I was going to take his money from his bank account, I wasn't going to _commit murder_. But apparently he had a lot of enemies and ended up half dead in his apartment with no memory of what happened. I had motive, means, and I didn't look too innocent, so they just locked me up.” Stiles snorts. “I could have fought it. But I didn't.”

 

“Why?” Derek asks, throat dry.

 

“Because even if I wasn't the one who tried to kill Jason, I _am_ the one who killed Gerard Argent.” Stiles states.

 

“What.” Derek chokes.

 

“I'm good at hiding bodies.” Stiles grins, almost manically. “He's dead now. Dead and gone. And now he can't hurt anyone, Derek. It’s safe.”

 

“I- what do you mean?” Derek doesn't want to hear it, but he needs to make sure.

 

“He killed my family.” Stiles clinks his tongue ring again. “And he played a part in killing yours. And now he can't- He wont ever be able to kill again. He can't hurt anyone anymore.” Derek hears what Stiles is really saying; _he can’t hurt_ us _anymore_.

 

“Stiles.” Derek chokes. “Stiles, you didn't have to--”

 

“I did.” Stiles shakes his head, eyes glinting. Derek can’t tell if it’s tears or Stiles’ insanity shining through. “I really, really did. That's why I left, Derek. I left because it had gone too far. Gerard had hurt too many people, he was going to come back and hurt the pack, and I just couldn't let him. So I killed him. Do you want to know why I never accepted the bite from you?”

 

“What?” Derek head is spinning from the topic change.

 

“If I turned into a wolf, no matter what anyone would have thought, I wouldn't be a good one. I'd be like Peter, I'd let revenge get the best of me, I'd kill everyone who hurt us, and I wouldn't stop. I'm not like Scott, I've never had a clear conscience, I don't see the best in people. Hell, I'm not even like you. You didn't kill Gerard when you had the chance, because you knew he was old and was going to die of Cancer, anyway. I wanted him to suffer and die by my hands. So you see, Derek? I'm not innocent. I'm not good for you, because even now, even when I've killed Gerard, I'm still angry. I'm still out for blood, and that feeling will never go away.”

 

“Stiles, no.” Derek lets go of any restraint and suddenly his hands are all over the tattooed man. “You're not- you're not a bad person. You're trying to make it seem like you're a horrible person, you're trying to force the pack to be disgusted with you, and I could honestly care less about what you did. I'm _glad_ that Gerard is dead.” And Derek isn’t lying, the wolf part of him is howling in arousal and joy that someone would go that far to protect the pack. He knows it’s not rational to give in to such a primal instinct, but he can’t bring himself to care.

 

“I harbored a fugitive.” Stiles points out.

 

“Well, it wasn't the first time.” Derek shoots back. Stiles can't help the surprised bark of laughter that bubbles out. He pushes Derek against the couch and swings a leg over, straddling him. Derek doesn’t even try to fight it. Instead, he actively encourages it, gripping onto Stiles’ hips.

 

“I steal cars.” Stiles leans in, eyes lidded.

 

“It doesn't matter.” Derek swallows, reaching up. Stiles shoves him back down.

 

“I slept with a lot of people. And somehow they all always end up being murdered.” Stiles catches Derek's lip between his teeth and gently scrapes it as he pulls back.

 

“You're with me now.” Derek moans, trying to roll his hips, but Stiles doesn't let him move. “ _Stiles._ ”

 

“I don't pay my taxes.” Stiles dead pans.

 

“Oh, wow, yeah, that's the deal breaker. Sorry, but you have to go.” Derek grunts. He doesn’t know why he’s making jokes. This isn’t a laughing situation, far from it, but something about Stiles intoxicates him and makes him forget about all of his police training and all of his morals.

 

Stiles grins, eyes heavy, and he pushes off Derek. “Strip.”

 

Derek doesn't waste time, he stands and removes all his clothing, his cock already at half mast. When he moves to take Stiles' clothes off, the boy shakes his head, “Not yet.” He wants to argue but Stiles is on his knees and his hands are roaming up Derek's thighs, reaching around to cup Derek's ass.

 

Derek jerks involuntarily and Stiles grins, wrapping thin fingers around Derek's dick and just holding it. “ _Stiles._ ”

 

“I don't give blow jobs often.” Stiles murmurs against Derek's shaft, pressing slow, wet kisses and humming. “But for you, Derek. Just for you.”

 

Derek almost collapses when Stiles' mouth wraps around his cock. His hand is still gripping and kneading and Derek can't think straight at the scent of Stiles. The scent of arousal and content, the hot wet ring of pressure-- Stiles presses the ball of his tongue ring against the vein running along the underside of Derek's dick and Derek lets out a strangled cry, pushing Stiles shoulders.

 

Stiles grins and pulls back, licking at his lips and looks up through his thick lashes. “I've always been the top, Derek. I've never let them touch me down there.”

 

He shoves Derek back onto the couch, straddling him once again. Derek presses his mouth against Stiles' throat, grappling at the annoying fabric separating their skin. “Really?” Derek mutters, voice hoarse.

 

“I always took them from behind, wouldn't look at their faces.” Stiles rolls his hips once, clothed crotch rubbing against Derek's naked form. “I would imagine you.”

 

Derek arches his back and Stiles smiles softly, removing his shirt in one swift motion and pressing himself flush against the wolf. Derek takes in Stiles' tattoos, the dark swirling patterns and lines of ink that circle around his nipples, framing the piercings. Derek leans in and takes the pierced nub into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and tugging slightly. Stiles' breath hitches and he pulls away, shucking off his jeans and underwear and straddling Derek once again, “Lube.”

 

“Condom-” Derek swallows thickly, clumsily reaching into his wallet to find to small packet of lube Erica had thrown at him as a joke a few weeks ago.

 

“I want to feel you- please.” Stiles whines, rubbing their cocks together, “No condom-“

 

Derek groans, flipping Stiles’ back onto the couch, slathering the lube on his fingers and warming it up before pressing a careful digit into the puckered hole. Stiles doesn’t even give himself time to adjust before he’s writhing and begging for more, breathy moans of ‘ _Derek, please, fuck, please’_ escaping his mouth.

 

By the times Derek has the third finger in, Stiles is screaming out, reaching for his dick. Derek grasps his wrist and pushes it away, “Not until I’m inside you.”

 

  
“Hurry up.” Stiles demands, finding the strength to muster up a glare. Derek feels a surge of warmth, and tries to cover up his emotions by shoving his slicked cock inside of Stiles in one rough thrust.

 

“Yes.” Stiles hisses, eyes tearing. “Come on, Derek, fuck me.”

 

Derek whines, pulling his cock out slowly, until his head catches on Stiles’ rim, before thrusting back in, hard. He keeps up this pattern until Stiles’ is cursing at him. Derek’s hips move on their own, plunging into the tight heat with reckless abandon, each one of his rough thrusts punctuated by a sharp cry from Stiles. Derek knows he’s found the spot when Stiles tenses up and his eyes glaze over.

 

Stiles comes first, unexpectedly, his hand not having enough time to stroke himself before he’s coming untouched all over their chests. Derek fucks him through it, chasing his own orgasm, before rushing to pull out. Stiles gasps and reaches to grab Dereks ass and prevent him from moving away. Derek lets out a choked grunt before he’s coming and shaking, hands roaming over Stiles’ body as if to make sure Stiles is still there.

 

“Take me to your room.” Stiles says, body relaxed, and eyes clearer than Derek has seen them since Stiles was a teen. “I want to sleep.”

 

“Okay.” Derek says softly, lifting Stiles into his arms easily, ignoring his shaking legs, as he walks up the stairs to his bedroom. He lays him down on the bed and pads to the bathroom to get a wet rag. He cleans them both up before curling around Stiles, tightening his hold in hopes that Stiles will just know that Derek never stopped loving him, never will.

When he wakes up, the bed is empty except for a letter and Derek is left with dread in the pit of his stomach.

 

* * *

_Derek,_

_They found more evidence against me, and they’re going to try to pin Stanley’s murder on me._  
 _I didn’t do it, but I know you know that. You do, after all, have a ridiculous amount of unwavering faith in me._

_The thought of going clean and living a straight edge and white picket fence life with you was tempting, but even I know that’s not possible._

_We’ll meet again, Derek, we always do. Next time it’ll be under better circumstances, I promise._

_But for now, you’re a cop and I’m a wanted fugitive. We both have a few issues and kinks to work out before we should even be allowed to be in the same room._

_I still love you, and that’s cruel of me to say in a goodbye letter, but I’m not really a good person anyway._

_Stiles_

**Author's Note:**

> warning for mentions of sheriff stilinski's death and references to murders


End file.
